


Watery Grave

by Anonymous



Category: Keys to the Kingdom - Garth Nix
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 11:51:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16618445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Saturday drowns Wednesday, after a fashion.





	Watery Grave

Saturday is there when Wednesday drowns. 

It's a simple matter to tell Dusk to keep track of things for the day and head down to Port Wednesday. She throws on a disguise spell in the elevator - not her best work, rather generic, but with the Sixth Key supporting her no one's going to see through it unless Wednesday decides to turn her own Key on it. A rather shabby, although unusually tall, clerk with an equally shabby quill pen tucked behind her ear steps out of a bank of elevators in Port Wednesday, and Saturday glances around. 

She can feel the Third Key in use. Wednesday's been pushing it hard, and it shows. There's a sort of insubstantial feeling of imminent failure, like the sound of metal that's fatigued and about to shear. Saturday is actually quite impressed momentarily. She'd have to work hard to keep her Key focused properly if she were trying to channel that much force through it while it was that damaged, and she's the most powerful and skilled sorcerer in all the realms. She wouldn't have thought Wednesday could manage it at all. On the other hand, Saturday also knows better than to put her Key under that kind of strain. The backlash if she slipped - not that she would, but accidents did happen - would be disastrous. Wednesday is almost guaranteed to make a mistake sooner or later, and whatever will happen to the Border Sea then can't be good. 

Saturday merges seamlessly with the rest of the crowd flowing in and out of the building she's arrived in. One more clerk attracts no attention whatsoever. She follows the feeling of the Third Key through a maze of buildings, barely even signposted; a seething throng of Denizens, Piper's children, and the occasional Raised Rats surrounds her. She remembers, once again, what exactly her tower was intended to be the antithesis of. How can Wednesday stand to live here, when it's so disorganized and full of lesser beings? 

Well, if what she hears is true, Wednesday isn't in much of a state to think of anything but food these days. Maybe it's her Times and other servants who've let things go like this. And if Saturday's plan works, it's not exactly going to improve matters unless she can actually make a claim for ownership of the Border Sea, which is a lovely idea, but probably not going to bear out. The idea of Saturday managing to get two regions under her control might actually manage to stir Sunday out of his perfect Gardens. But it doesn't matter so much whether she can take the Border Sea; she gains from this, no matter what. 

The building Wednesday is in - probably her home while she's here - is actually remarkably nondescript, with two floors and fairly few windows. If she couldn't feel the Third Key in use inside it, Saturday would never have guessed that the Duchess of the Border Sea lived there. It at least has the advantage of being across the street from a teahouse where Saturday can sit down, order a cup of (terrible) tea, and pretend to be working on a letter. She slides a piece of paper and a small ink bottle out of her sleeve, takes the Sixth Key from its place behind her ear, and sits down to write. 

Without the need to focus on not walking into people or tripping over curbs, Saturday can feel exactly what Wednesday is doing with her key. As she'd expected based on her spies' reports, it's all focused on keeping her appearance exactly the same and trying to sate her hunger. Saturday can't imagine why Wednesday is suddenly so hungry, but she can feel enough to tell that what Wednesday is doing is akin to throwing a few rocks into one of Tuesday's mine shafts. She can't possibly sink enough magic into whatever drives her hunger to make any difference. 

With all that sorcery flowing through the key, and Wednesday's shaky control over it, it's a simple matter to just nudge the spell. It shifts very slightly as Saturday writes out her spell, no one else in the tea house paying her any mind. It's enough. 

The kick as the sorcery fails, leaving vast quantities of magical energy floating free, is enough for Saturday to feel like she's just been punched; she nearly falls off her chair, and the person sitting closest to her glances at her with visible concern as she rights herself. The rest of her spell takes over, redirecting that power. Wednesday would be able to tell who'd just sabotaged her if she could focus on it, but Saturday suspects she'll have bigger concerns. 

There's a bloodcurdling scream from Wednesday's house. 

That gets the attention of everyone in the teahouse. They look up with concern as Wednesday's front door slams open, revealing a beautiful woman with curly brown hair in a long blue dress. She's still screaming. She takes off at a speed that's impressive even for a Denizen down the street, leaving Saturday with the brief but unmistakable impression that Wednesday seemed to be _melting_. 

Before she can fully recognize what's happening, she's picked up the Sixth Key, dumped some coins on the table - far too much money, and in Upper House currency besides - and followed Wednesday. It's not hard. There's a trail of people following her, and also the screaming is hard to miss. 

Saturday catches up with her by the waterfront, where a tall man with dark red hair and a blonde woman are trying to restrain her. Wednesday's Dawn and Dusk, Saturday thinks. She hasn't dealt with either of them extensively, but it would make sense. Wednesday _definitely_ looks like she's melting now - she looks like she's drowned, actually, Saturday realizes. She's occasionally seen Piper's children who fell into one of the water storage tanks and didn't get out in time, when the dead body is at risk of breaking the sorcery that keeps the Will in the rain and her Times feel that her personal attention is needed to help with the retrieval. The bodies are ghastly pale, oddly lumpy, and always have a look of utter terror. Wednesday looks like she's drowned. 

The Third Key flashes. Wednesday's Dawn and Dusk fall back; a line of blue blood is visible against Dawn's pink shirt, and Dusk is probably bleeding too. Wednesday dives, clean and elegant, into the ocean and is gone; she's not even visible in the water, and no wake or trail of bubbles marks her passing. It only takes a second for Dusk to go in after her, and Dawn follows a heartbeat later, but Wednesday is already far beyond their reach. Saturday can feel the Third Key heading out to sea, leaving the waves slapping hard against the dock in her wake. 

"Is she... gone?" someone whispers. The question is taken up by the crowd. It doesn't die down as Wednesday's Dawn pulls herself out of the water. "Is Lady Wednesday all right?" someone else shouts. "What just happened?"

Dawn shakes her head. "I don't know. I don't know. I'm sure she's fine and she'll be back soon to explain, though."

Saturday slides out of the crowd, which is sounding increasingly frantic; her spies will be able to keep her updated on the mood of the Border Sea populace. She's done what she needed to do. As she steps into the elevator that will take her back to her office in the Upper House and drops her disguise, she allows herself a moment of regret for what she's done to her friend, but it's just as quickly drowned under the idea that she needed to do this. Wednesday would have ruined everything, and now she won't be able to. 

It's a less comforting thought than she'd expected.


End file.
